


Porcelain walls

by XxWolfgirl2846xX



Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxWolfgirl2846xX/pseuds/XxWolfgirl2846xX
Summary: He had been hiding behind his walls for 20 years. He had found peace in the solitude and strength in the routine. He knew there was no going back from revealing himself so he would have to suffer the consequences. He couldn't disappear into the walls again, he couldn't go back to all that was normal. But perhaps, he mused, he would be okay.
Relationships: Greta Evans/Brahms Heelshire
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. Revelation

For a moment she could see the future. Shards of porcelain shattered on the floor, blood leaking from what should have been a doll, revenge approaching like a searing storm. Destructive and unrelenting. Unstoppable until the wrong had been righted. But whose wrong? Whose revenge?

Greta's heart pounded in her throat as she held little Brahms close. She could see that tinge of ruthlessness return in Cole's eye and she knew very well what that meant. Things would end badly. The funny thing is that she now didn't just fear for herself, but also for little Brahms.

She knew Cole. She knew he would use him against her. Exploit her love for the boy in ways she couldn't - or didn't want to - imagine.

"Give it to me". Cole's voice was calm and stable as he looked at her with his hand outstretched.

"Give me the doll" he repeated.

"No." Greta turned away from the man in what she believed to be the first time she had outright denied him. But it wasn't just about her this time around. It was about Brahms, and she would be damned seven ways to hell if she failed to protect him.

The woman walked away. But as Cole repeated his demand more insistently, followed by the threat of her name, she willed her legs to go faster. She could sense him coming after her. Just as she started to gain speed Cole's voice made her flinch, and waver in her pace for only a split second.

"Hand him over!" she pressed Brahms closer to her, simultaneously burying her face in the crook of his neck. His porcelain skin felt cold against her heated cheek. She refused to give up though. She wouldn't submit to Cole again. Never again.

"No!" She screamed back at him as he reached forward to grab for the doll still clutched tightly against her body. "Cole, no!" She wanted nothing more than to bring Brahms upstairs and put him to bed. Save him from all of this.

Cole reached for Greta once more and hooked his fingers around her elbow.

"Get off of me!" she roared in his face, stunning him for a moment. She continued running through the hall with Brahms securely in her grasp.

Greta was sure her heart was about to leap from her throat. She could feel it. Her throat was dry and she could hardly swallow. Her mouth hung open in an attempt to have enough oxygen flowing into her lungs. She had to do something to protect little Brahms. She would see to it that no harm came to her boy.

"I've had about as much as I can take."

Greta looked behind her to see Cole swiftly moving towards her in large strides.

"It was me. You were right. It was me"

Her hopes of calming Cole's rage towards Brahms were shattered as the man told her it was too late. She felt helpless as tears gathered and fell down her cheeks. Brahms's face was still tucked away against her body, her arms snaked around him protectively.

Her voice faltered more as she denied Cole again.

She could see him snap.

"Now! I'm not joking around!" 

Greta screamed nonsense as Cole tore Brahms from her grasp. As she was forced down to the ground and Brahms's body left her protective arms she couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. She thought she caught a flash of Brahms's face as he was pulled away. His permanent expression seeming sadder than she remembered

"Hey, Hey!" Her gaze shot towards Malcolm "Get your things and get outa here!"

Malcolm's voice was filled with certainty. It was unwavering and commanding. Greta scrambled to her feet and watched the scene as her hands shook without Brahms to hold onto.

"you know, everyone just seems to be in a big hurry for me to leave." Cole mused as he swung little Brahms about.

Cole went ignored in favour of Malcolm asking Greta is she was alright. She could barely squeak out a 'yeah' as worry, instead of blood, was now seemingly coursing through her body

"Maybe" Cole turned to face Malcolm and stepped closer threateningly, "Maybe you left that little message for me"

The dark-haired man looked to Greta for something to tell him what was going on.

"Or are you gonna say it was the doll, too,"

Malcolm's eyes once again glanced to the young woman for an explanation "What did Brahms do?"

Greta took a breath, willing her voice into steadiness. Cole wouldn't believe her. But she had to try. Talk to him in his mindset, in his logic, and convince him. Normally she had some time to think about what words to use, how to alter her voice and body language. But she didn't have time. And if she didn't do something right this moment, little Brahms would pay the price.

"Cole, you don't understand what's happening. The doll-"

Greta is cut off by Cole. Anger laced in his every syllable as he roughly moves little Brahms through the air without a thought.

"No, I think I know exactly what's going on here"

"Give me the doll!' Malcolm calls from the other side of the room

"What's so special about this doll?"

Greta calls out to the long-haired man as she can sense him becoming more agitated by the second. He'll snap again, she knows it, and he's still holding Brahms.

Malcolm doesn't answer the man. Greta can feel her heart sinking. How terrified little Brahms must be. "Cole, please"

But he's not listening to her. His anger is building up, he's about to burst and Greta knows he'll take it out on Brahms. Only in order to hurt her, of course. He doesn't know how much the boy doll means. Just that it means a lot to his 'runaway girl'.

Greta all but whimpers as Cole swings little Brahms's body, his head only barely avoiding the floor.

She calls out to Cole, begging him to listen with just his name, hoping against hope that he'll hear the fear in her voice and stop torturing her. Hoping against all of the evidence of tonight that he'll give proof to his claims of having changed.

"Fine." He says, and Greta's heart plummets. The man brings his arm back, swinging the body of little Brahms upwards, before bringing him down again with crushing force. Greta reacts too late. She can't stop it, she can't save him. So, she screams. Brahms's name resounding through the room in a pained wail of unmistakable grief as the boy's frail porcelain face slams against the edge of a chair, shattering into pieces.

Greta falls to her knees in sobs and watches as the remains of little Brahms settle on the ground. Her trembling hands reach out in desperation. As if he would magically put himself back together if she could only hold him again.

She doesn't hear the rumbling of the pipes or the slamming within the walls of the house. She doesn't hear the sounds closing on them with each passing second. The only things she hears is her own drowned out heartbeat. Her own breathing. The only thing she sees is the blurry pieces of what was Brahms. Her numb fingers caressed a piece of her beloved boy's face, thinking to mere minutes ago when she held him in her arms.

The distraught woman is drawn back towards reality with the flickering of lights. She looks up as she hears a slam behind the wall in front of her, with enough force to move the painting on her side.

She's vaguely aware of Malcolm saying they should leave. But with movement within the walls coming closer and closer she can only manage a tiny, unbelieving, but relieved smile.

It's Brahms. She knows it. He'll protect her. He'll fix everything.

Malcolm insists again that they should leave, but he gets hushed by Cole who moves toward the mirror. He listens to the footsteps and slams coming from behind it.

"There's somethi-" Cole's sentence is cut off by the sound of glass shattering. He falls back onto the floor.

"Greta?" A tiny voice calls out from the darkness. She looks up with a gasp, hope filling up her chest once more at the thought of reuniting with her Brahmsy.

"Greta?" the voice repeated, a bit louder this time.

Malcolm pulls Greta to her feet and moves protectively in front of her.

"Jesus, what is that?" He stares in horror as a tall man emerges from behind the now shattered mirror.

Horrified by the realization, Malcolm's posture wavers for a moment. "It's Brahms."

Greta stands behind him, focussed solely and entirely on the porcelain clad face of Brahms. She watches as he stands before them, his broad shoulders covered in a loose, emerald green, buttoned sweater.

She watches as Brahms's gaze travels to Cole, still on the floor. Malcolm yells at Brahms as he takes a step towards Cole. Brahms is strong, though, and easily pushes the other man away before bringing his fist down to the side of Malcolm's head, making him slam into the wall and go down groaning. Brahms struggles a bit to keep his balance, clearly not accustomed to the large movements and perhaps even unaware of his own strength.

Brahms turns around and sees Cole scrambling backwards. He lunges forward and brings his fist down to Cole's face, hitting him on the nose. He grabs the man's shirt and pulls him up only to slam him back down into the wooden floor. Repeating this a few more times ensures that Cole is properly dazed, giving Brahms the time to reach for a shard of the doll's face.

He pushes Cole's face to the side, seeing his eyes widen in fear. The disgusting excuse of a man squirms and flails underneath him and the only thing he can feel is anger. This thing hurt his Greta.

Brahms forcefully brings down the shard of porcelain to the man's neck. He can see terror Cole's eyes as the shard is lodged deeper into his neck and pushes it deeper once more just for good measure.

"oh my god, Brahms."

Greta looks down at the man who just murdered Cole. She can't seem to find empathy or regret for the man that has haunted both her life and her nightmares for years.

Brahms perks up at the sound of Greta's voice, his eyes quickly falling upon her. He raises from his position above Cole, leaving him to choke on his own blood, and moves towards the woman serving as his supposed nanny.

He was worried that revealing himself might send her running in a panicked frenzy of screams and tears but it seems his own eyes are now threatening to spill over.

"Oh, Brahms." Greta finally breaks from her frozen position. Rushing forward to comfort the porcelain faced man. She rushes into his arms, holding him tightly against her. She can hear and feel Brahms's heart hammering in his chest. Her hands moved instinctively, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder blades. His arms wrap around her as she can feel the man shaking in her grasp, though she was quite certain she wasn't doing much better.

In that moment everything was okay. What happened didn't matter, what would happen didn't matter. Reality could go fuck itself. Greta had her Brahmsy back. That is all that mattered.

It was a perfect moment, feeling his warm body against her own, taking in all that Brahms truly was.

It was a perfect moment,  
and in a moment it was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like notes so this will be the only one unless something goes terribly wrong.  
> Please leave comments and feedback, I'd love to know what you guys think and how I can improve my writing skills.  
> If you want to chat with me about anything/everything you can find me on Instagram: _catch.me.if.you.can_ 
> 
> Hope you guys have a nice day. Stay awesome! :)


	2. Reaction

Malcolm grunted as he brought down a wooden board, slamming it against Brahms's head. The man's grip faltered, his knees buckled and he fell to the floor, nearly losing consciousness.

Under Brahms's weight, Greta went down along with him. Malcolm pulled on her arm and moved her from under the man. Brahms was too dazed to move and Malcolm quickly pushed Greta to her feet, shoving her away. He pushed her forward and down the hall with his body, constantly glancing back to see if Brahms was following. Greta looked back to Brahms, seeing him slowly trying to regain his composure after Malcolm's painful blow.

"Come on, keep moving! We're almost there, keep going, Greta!" Malcolm shouted.  
Greta tried to push back against him but he only forced her to move faster.

She tried to duck underneath his arms, pushing her legs to drive her forward even in the uncomfortable position and she nearly succeeded.

Malcolm contorted his body to move against his natural movement, catching Greta's hoody between his fingers. She struggled against his tugging before quickly unzipping the garment and twisting her way out of the sleeves. She ran back, deeper into the house and Malcolm chased after her quickly, calling out her name.

Greta made her way back to the room where Cole still lay sprawled about with blood oozing the deep gash in his neck. But Brahms was gone. Panic took over once more and she ran up the stairs, deeper into the house, yelling his name to random walls and corners in hopes of finding him.

Brahms finally appeared, coming out of a side room, at the end of a stretched hallway. The man's eyes widened in happiness as she ran to him once again. Before she could embrace her Brahms his gaze shifted to something behind her. A deafening bang sounded through the old mansion and Brahms's eyes were filled with pure, unbridled fear.

Greta gasped for air. Had he been hit?   
She quickly pulled him down and back into the room from which he came as more shots made her ears ring. They fell against the wall behind the door and Greta turned to Brahms, checking his body for injuries. her hands and eyes swept over the sides of his face and his shoulders, down his upper arms and down his chest. She released a small sigh of relief as she discovered no bullets had hit him.

Greta knew she didn't have much time, Malcolm would advance, and they had nowhere to go.

"Brahms, stay in here. Okay?" She tried to sound convincing, but it seemed a rather difficult thing to do with ragged, uneven breaths leaving her mouth. The man's eyes were wide and his chest was rising and falling just a quick, as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes anxious eyes met hers, knowing that she meant to go back out to meet the man who had them hiding from bullets. He wanted to beg her not to go. Lock the door and hide away until the sun came up. Everything would be alright. The nightmares would go away.

"Promise me, Brahms. Promise me you'll stay in here. Please."

The man nodded his head ever so slightly and with that Greta stood and went back out the door. Brahms quickly pulled himself up and moved to follow after her, stopping the doorframe to watch the scene before him.

His beloved Greta stood in the middle of the hallway, Malcolm at the other end. A gun held tightly in his trembling hands. Brahms recognized the gun as one of his father's, possibly from the study.

"Malcolm, listen to me"

"Greta, get away from him. now!" Malcolm fired another shot, hitting the doorframe where Brahms stood. Causing Brahms to flinch. The man stumbled back for a second, his eyes clenched shut and his hands moving to cover his ears.

"Brahms get back!" Greta yelled, and the man retreated a bit further back into the unlit room.

Greta held her hand up as she slowly stepped closer to Malcolm. His gaze was trained on her, but the gun was still pointed in Brahms's direction.

"Malcolm. Malcolm please. I'm begging you. Please. Please don't hurt him!"

As determination settled into the man's eyes once more, Greta's voice rose along with her panic.

"No, please, please! Please!" she screamed, tears blurring her vision at the thought of losing Brahms just as she had gotten him back.

"Malcolm, please. I can't lose him again. I- I can't." she sobbed, "Please!"

His eyes now flashed between the doorframe and the woman he'd come to know. She looked like she was about to shatter into pieces, much like the body of little Brahms. This night had shaken Malcolm to his core and his head was reeling.

The real Brahms, meanwhile, was slowly emerging from the room again. He knew he was breaking his promise but Greta couldn't expect him to just stand there watching as she was putting herself in danger.

Her voice sounded through the hall again. Much softer and cautious this time   
"Give me the gun. Malcolm."

He frowned in confusion, almost not believing the words coming from her mouth.

"Give it to me. Please. He won't hurt us."  
He looked at her incredulously. How could she say that? Had she not stood there watching as Brahms came from inside the walls and murdered her ex-lover?

"You're talking like he didn't just stab someone in the neck!" Malcolm protested with an unsteady voice.

"He was protecting us! Damn it, Malcolm. He was protecting us, protecting me! It was my fault, I asked him for help. Blame me!"

Malcolm's breathing hadn't returned to normal, but it seemed to become a bit more regular.  
His initial shock and adrenaline rush melting away with every second Greta spoke to him.

Greta stepped closer once more and reached for the gun clutched in Malcolm's hands. Brahms worriedly stepped out into the hallway eyes wide as he imagined the man changing his mind at the last moment and firing the gun.

He didn't think he'd survive it. He had been sure before that this 'Cole' would harm his beautiful. Brahms hated him. That dick treated Greta as if he owned her. She had been terrified of the intruding man but Brahms couldn't help her. After all, he wasn't real. He didn't exist.

He only lived through the doll. That was the agreement.

But then she asked him for help. She sounded so broken, so tiny, so scared that he was almost certain her voice was no longer her own. He couldn't just stay silent behind his porcelain walls anymore. And she paid the price for his mistake.

He shouldn't have put her in danger by leaving that message on the wall, or showing himself, or not obeying her in this very moment. But his body was moving on its own.

Malcolm continued lowering the gun. Greta slowly took it from his hands as the man's eyes returned to Brahms, now standing in the hallway. He reached for the gun again, fear evident in his eyes. But Greta had already thrown it backwards and out of his reach.

It slid across the hall, almost perfectly, to hit against Brahms's feet.

Brahms kicked the gun away, covering his ears. He could almost hear that deafening sound again, shaking him to his bones. It was too loud. He clenched his eyes shut in his panic and lost balance, falling against the wall. Brahms slid down, still clutching at his ears to drown out the sound of a non-existent bullet.

Greta turned around quickly, spotting Brahms against the wall. She left Malcolm to gather himself up again and ran to Brahms's side. She quickly pulled the larger man against her chest. He held onto her tightly, afraid that if he let go she might vanish before his eyes.

Greta held him close, weaving her fingers through his hair and whispering soothingly in an attempt to calm him.

They stayed like that for a while longer, everyone slowly recovering from the night's events.

Greta finally decided to move. Pulling Brahms up along with her, she wordlessly guided him towards his bedroom as he ducked down to her side to press against her. Once there, she sat the man down on the bed.

Malcolm made his way to the door, his mind still not completely up and running apparently, and stood watching as Greta turned and Brahms reached out to hold her back like a frightened child. Pleading eyes full of uncertainty focussed solely on the brown-haired woman made him feel like he was an intruder on the scene. Like this moment wasn't meant for him to see.

Greta turned around and smiled reassuringly, placing a soft hand on the side of the man's face.

"I'm not leaving, Brahms. I promise."

Brahms's shoulders seemed to relax at her words and Greta walked towards the shared bathroom where she had noticed a bag filled with old clothes labelled 'donations'.

Brahms's gaze was trained on his fingers as he listened to her rummaging through the bag.

Greta re-emerged from the bathroom soon enough, holding what looked like pyjama bottoms and one of her own oversized shirts. She practically swam in the garment but it was likely to fit Brahms.

Greta laid the clothes down at the foot of the bed and started helping Brahms out of his clothes.

She decided she would try her best to clean Cole's blood off the emerald sweater, but had no problem tossing the dirt-smeared undershirt.

Brahms moved his limbs in whatever way Greta directed him to but she soon realised that changing the man's trousers would prove more difficult than changing the those on a porcelain doll.

Malcolm had moved away to gather his thoughts in the hall at this point, feeling too awkward to watch any longer, and Greta was grateful for that.

"Okay Brahms, I'm going to need a bit more help for the next bit, yeah?"

The man blinked at her slowly and Greta wondered for a moment if it would be better to just let him sleep as he was clearly drained from all energy.

She decided against it however and simply directed Brahms to lay down on the bed and lift his body so she could pull the covers back to the foot of the bed.

Removing Brahms's trousers and getting him into a clean pair did ultimately prove more difficult than Greta had hoped, but better than she feared, and soon enough she was pulling up the covers over Brahms's body, making a mental note to add 'New clothes' to the list of things she needed from the town.

After making sure Brahms was comfortable in his bed she sunk down next to it and looked at him. His porcelain mask had drops of red blood dried onto it and she had to hold back to not wipe them off. Brahms's eyes were already drooping and she knew it wouldn't take long for him to fall asleep.

"Thank you for protecting me today Brahms."

Greta spoke softly while stroking the man's greasy curls.

"Do you want to take off your mask to sleep?" Brahms shook his head lightly against the pillow and Greta smiled.

"Okay, we'll get it nice and clean tomorrow. That sound good?" She wasn't expecting a reply this time. He knew just as well as her that the both of them would be in dire need of a scrubbing once they woke up but that was an issue for future Greta to deal with. Right now she was content with simply watching Brahms's eyes close and hearing his breathing even out behind the mask.

A few more minutes went by as she watched Brahms relax under the covers and fall asleep.  
She almost didn't hear Malcolm clearing his throat behind her.

As she turned to face him he motioned with his head to move out of the room.

They walked down the hall in silence. Both took a few moments to gather themselves  
"I'm, uh.." Malcolm hesitated. "I'm sorry about earlier. I freaked out and I, it was, it was just-"

"weird?" Greta offers.  
"yeah."

Greta sighs tiredly. Everything that happened seems to be replaying in her mind and she would simply want to switch off her brain. Unable to do so she decides to start a different train of thought.

"We're going to have to gather some things from the town soon, I'm sure Brahms will need some new clothes and, uhm, other" she paused, sucking in a breath of air, "things. New lesson materials for starters, he can't keep rereading the child-level books, I can't imagine how bored he must be with them."  
She laughed casually but the discomfort underneath was obvious.  
"I'll have to go over everything else with Brahms himself cause I really have no idea how he's been living in the walls all this time."

Malcolm swallowed his remark down, believing it better to keep his reservations about the man in the walls to himself. It was obvious that Greta wouldn't leave and while he himself was wary of the situation, If Greta was staying in the house then so was he.

"I'll go prepare a bed for you. Neither of us is in a good state to drive right now." Though the young woman didn't believe Malcolm would have left the premises either way.

Malcolm nodded. He wanted to say so many things but his mind seemed to work in slow motion. He couldn't hold a thought long enough to actually form what he wanted to say about it. So he simply followed Greta to the other end of the hallway.

Greta led Malcolm into a room with a neatly made bed.

"it's a spare room so, I'm not sure how long it's been unused. It's going to get cold towards the morning so if you need an extra blanket you can just take one from here" She explained, while placing a stack of blankets from the closet onto a chair in the corner.

"If you need the bathroom- wait, you know where the bathroom is." She frowned to herself

"wait, no, you don't-"

Greta sighed in defeat and simply asked the man if he knew where the bathroom was, explaining where to find the upstairs bathroom on his side of the hallway when he admitted that he only knew how to find the lavatory on the lower level of the house.

For a moment, Malcolm was taken aback by how naturally she existed in this space. Moving and speaking as if she'd lived in the estate all her life. The difference between this person and the woman who arrived here only a few weeks back was astounding.

Greta soon left, bidding the man a good night, before walking down the hall to her own room.

Once there she walked through the bathroom that connected her room to Brahms's, pulling out an extra blanket from his closet and laying it over top of the man's sleeping form. She once again took the time to look at him, noticing that he hadn't yet removed his mask. She quietly wished him sweet dreams and placed a small kiss on the man's forehead.

She walked back to her own room, crawling under the blankets without a second thought. She had hoped the night's events had drained her enough to fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but it seems she wasn't as lucky.

Greta laid there, staring up at the ceiling, imagining every worst-case scenario and playing it in her head, feeling the emotions coursing through her chest.

The stillness in the house was tense, and she would lay awake for quite a while longer before sleep finally took her mind into the deep and left her with dreamless sleep.


	3. Repose

Morning came too quickly and far too slowly according to Malcolm, who had hardly slept a wink. But he had decided that he wouldn't leave the bed before he heard other sounds indicating other people were awake. He had to admit he felt quite awkward lying there.

Greta had been right about the morning's chilliness, so Malcolm decided to slip on his socks and shoes, shivering after throwing the blankets off him. He quickly makes his way down the stairs, mentally preparing to see Cole's body lying in the hall.

To his surprise, the man's body was gone. He could see a big streak of blood, leading to the room with the pool table, whose doors were locked and the key was gone. He shuddered. Who had dragged that heap of human all the way here? Could Greta have managed to pull him here? It seemed unlikely that it was Brahms since he was out cold last night. Perhaps the young woman was stronger than he had given her credit for.

As he continues towards the kitchen he can hear the stifled clanking op pans against the stove.

He finds Greta in the kitchen, preparing an omelette by the smell of it.

She greets him with a small "good morning."

He nods in return. Worriedly glancing at her tired features.

"Did you sleep at all?"

She gives a small chuckle. "Not really, no. You didn't either?"

"What are you talking about? I slept like a baby!" Malcolm exclaims, bringing an appreciative smile to Greta's face even though she knows well enough that he did not.

"Brahms seemed to be out cold though. He still asleep?"

Malcolm attempted to sound casual, but with the recent events still clear as day in everyone's minds his true question wasn't hidden very well.

Still, Greta herself didn't seem too eager to talk about it herself and simply responded to the easy question, ignoring the one lying just below.

"He's still asleep as far as I can tell. Though I wouldn't be surprised if he was faking it."

Few beats of silence passed, neither wanting to ask nor wanting to answer the unspoken questions.

"would you, uhm-" Greta started, "Would you like an omelette as well?"

"Uhm, yeah, sure."

A few minutes later the dish was served and Malcolm dug in. Greta had eaten bits of her serving while preparing Malcolm's but now seemed to have lost her appetite. Malcolm could tell Brahms was on her mind. She seemed to be completely lost in thought.

Finally, the man decided to speak again.

"Listen, I'm going to head into town later and get some supplies and for-" Malcolm cleared his throat as he trailed off, his eyes automatically darting towards the room that where Cole's body still lay.

"We're going to need a plan if we want this to work."

Greta looked down to her folded arms, turning a bit pale. She sighed and turned, grabbing a piece of paper from the counter and handing it to Malcolm.

"I made a list of some supplies I want you to bring along if it's possible. Some things are a bit specific so if you can't find them I can go find them myself while you stay with Brahms for a bit."

-Like that'll happen- Malcolm thought wryly.  
Regardless, he took the list, grateful for the distraction, and promised he'd look into it. Not another word was spoken as the man took his leave.

Greta watched his car drive away in the distance before walking back into the house, still barefoot, and locking the door.

She decided to pass the time by cleaning the kitchen and putting everything in place for Brahms's breakfast.

By the time she finished setting up a place for Brahms to eat his breakfast it was almost 8.30 am and she had become too antsy to wait any longer.

Greta braced herself as she entered Brahms's room, only to find that his bed was empty.

The covers were neatly pulled up, with the pillow resting on top of it. The only indication that anything had happened in the room at all was the second blanket lying at the foot of the bed, folded.

She could feel a surge of worry rise. Greta knew very well that this was Brahms's home, where he had spent years. He knew how to get around. Still, part of her feared that something happened. That the man had vanished, not into the walls this time, but out of her life as a whole.

She turned and walked briskly through the halls.

"Brahms?" she called through the empty home.

"Brahms, where are you?" She continued rushing around the halls, heart pounding. Did Cole hurt Brahms?

With that thought, she ran down the stairs. Greta pulled the key from her back pocket as she neared the door to the pool room and quickly unlocked it. Finding Cole's body lying where it had been left last night felt like a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. He was gone.

Come to think of it, she hadn't realized it before but; Cole was gone. The man who had tormented her for years on end. The man who had made her feel like the loneliest person on earth. The one who took not one but two children from her. Though, hindsight being what it is, some may argue about the latter being an actual child.

He had been the one who pushed her so close to the edge that she thought she was already falling by the time she realised she was actually running. She never thought she would've been able to pull it off and then all of a sudden she was on a different continent, caring for a doll.

"Slowly and then all at once, I suppose" She repeated the words Mr Heelshire said to her, feeling them resonating within her chest.

With a last glance at Cole's body, Greta left the pool room and locked it behind her, slipping the key back into her pocket.

"Brahms?" she asked cautiously.

"Brahms, will you please come out?"

Greta jumped slightly as she heard a small knock behind her. She turned around the room, looking for where the sound came from. Then her eyes fell on a closet. It opened slowly, revealing Brahms.

The wooden panel on the back had been removed and Greta could now see that it was easy enough for Brahms to crawl through.

She waited patiently for Brahms to close the door to the closet and smiled at him as he met her eyes, her heartbeat finally slowing to a steady pace.

"Good morning, sunshine" she greeted his solemn porcelain expression.

She could see his eyes darting to the body on the floor behind her.

"Would you like some breakfast?"

When he nodded, Greta carefully stepped forward and offered him her hand to take.  
Brahms's movements were uncertain almost like he was afraid she'd shatter at his touch.

When he finally did take Greta's hand she gave him a playful squeeze.  
"I'm not porcelain Brahms, I won't break." She said jokingly. She regretted it almost instantly as the clattering of shattered porcelain sounded in her ears, wiping her smile for a moment.

They walked to the kitchen together and Brahms sat down as Greta began whisking two eggs in a bowl, adding several extra ingredients. After pouring the eggs onto the pan, she placed two pieces of bread in the toaster and pushed it down. When she turned to grab some shredded cheese the cup was snatched away by a large hand and placed down ever so softly at the opposite end of the table.

"No cheese?"

Brahms slowly sat back down properly in his chair. The man looked at her, almost as if he was afraid of her reaction. Had he ever been allowed to decide what to eat for breakfast or did Mrs Heelshire just not give him the option? Greta couldn't help the shocked confusion that she felt but she kept her thoughts from showing on her face. Had he really lived like this for the past 20 years? No wonder he was quiet.

The Heelshires had seemed so nice, if a bit odd, caring for a doll. But caring for their actual son was too much to ask? Had they hidden him in the walls for all this time? Had he even been allowed out?

She smiled at Brahms again, telling him that eggs and cheese wasn't a good combination for everyone.

She took the man's plate from in front of him and carefully laid the omelette onto it, folding it almost perfectly in half on the plate. Brahms took the plate as she handed it to him and Greta quickly added the pieces of toast. She then stood back and sipped her orange juice.

She could see the uncertainty in his eyes. He didn't know what to do, it seemed.

Greta felt a bit silly after realising that Brahms was too uncomfortable to start eating in front of her.

She looked at his porcelain mask, a few splatters of blood still present.

"I'll go run you a warm bath. You enjoy your breakfast."

She stepped out of the kitchen but hovered for a moment. She could see burn scars on the side of Brahms's neck and watched as his hands came up to remove his mask.

Knowing that Brahms would eat, Greta turned away. Brahms would reveal whatever he wanted to her at his own pace.

As the water slowly filled the bathtub Greta decided she would clean up the remains of little Brahms's porcelain body if only to distract from the clean-up of Cole's body that would be sure to follow.

She placed the doll on the chair and brought back an ornamental bowl from on top of a low cabinet. Her fingers manoeuvred carefully to pick up the large pieces of the doll's face and placed them in the bowl. After that was done she decided to sweep the rest of the pieces up and picked out the ones that hadn't turned to dust in the smashing, saving them.

By the time Greta had placed the bowl back on the cabinet, she remembered the bath.

"Shit." She cussed as she made her way up the stairs, taking several steps at a time.

Greta pushed open the door to the bathroom only to realise she had time to spare before the water had to be turned off

She frowned to herself, perhaps the lack of sleep impacted her sense of time more than she would have liked to admit.

After placing towels down to prevent the feeling of cold floors against toes she took out another few towels and placed them close to the bathtub so Brahms wouldn't have to feel the cold air once he left the water, or at least not for too long.

Finally, she leaned against the sink, and her thoughts picked up as she waited.

Brahms had lived in this house, or rather it's walls, for 20 years. But he had to have come out at some point for necessities, right? It had taken Greta a few days to actually follow the rules and prepare food for him. Had he gone hungry on those days? Guilt twisted in her stomach as she thought of the sandwich he had made her with the promise of being good.

More questions flooded her mind as she waited. She decided she would ask Brahms about it later.

With that verdict, she turned off the tap and headed back downstairs.

Greta knocked on the door to the kitchen, waiting for Brahms to give her permission to enter. She wasn't about to invade his privacy by waltzing in when he made it perfectly clear to her that he wasn't ready to share his face with her.

She heard Brahms moving behind the door and soon enough a knock told her she could come in. Brahms was standing at the opposite end of the kitchen? His plate and glass placed neatly in the sink.

"Hey, was it okay?"

Brahms nodded silently and Greta gave him a sweet smile.

"Your bath is ready if you'd like, though it might still be a bit too hot. I'm afraid I'm not entirely acquainted with the thermostat yet."

She cleared her throat.

"Do you have some fresh clothes?" she asked.

Brahms's gaze faltered for a moment.

You can go get them, Brahms. Just let me know when you're about to go in so I know, yeah?"

But, Brahms remained where he stood, looking a bit uncertain.

The man stepped forward and took Greta's hand in his ever so gently as if asking for her permission with his movements alone. Greta took his hand and allowed him to lead her through the halls.

She followed him, silently, until they reached the closet where Brahms had stepped out of that morning. She followed him into the walls of the house and watched as he made his way through the maze-like structure with ease. He eventually let go of her hand to pull open a door.

Greta could hardly believe her eyes. He was living in what she could only describe as a hidden room.

While she was looking around the space Brahms moved away and crouched down at a box with clothes. He shuffled through the pieces and pulled out a few items, deeming them good enough.

Meanwhile, Greta was still taken aback by the revelation. She didn't know what to think.

Her eyes slid across the room to the sink, the cupboard, the boxes where Brahms was still crouched, the refrigerator with a microwave on top, the desk, a flight of stairs leading up, the bed in the corner, another desk and cabinet an open wooden shelf and things her eyes simply brushed over.

Strings of lights were hung up and several small lamps were placed in corners to light up the room.

It was still only dimly lit, and somehow it felt calming to Greta. Completely hidden away where no one can find you and everything you need.

With a bit of shame, she realised that Brahms's room was to him exactly what this nanny job, this house, was to Greta.

Brahms came to stand next to her, now holding a few pieces of clothing. And Greta found herself stunned by the amount of trust the man had placed in her by bringing her into his space.

"You live here?" Brahms nods casually and then motions his head for the two of them to leave again.

Greta nodded and quickly took his hand again. When Brahms looked back to her for an explanation she replied that she didn't know her way around the walls at all and would definitely get lost without Brahms.

He tilted his head for a moment and then led her through the walls. Eventually, he stopped and guided Greta's body to face the wall. He let go of her hand and moved away, disappearing completely from her view.

Greta had become slightly worried at the thought of becoming lost in the walls and jumped at the sound of a knock.

A moment went by and then two knocks sounded. She looked around in the dark, begging for her eyes to adjust to the low light. Annother two knocks sounded to her right. The pace ever so slightly slower and their sound a bit sharper. She moved towards the sound, making sure not to run into anything by sliding her hand against the wooden boards.

The knocks returned and she could hear them clearer this time. Soon she heard the knocks almost right in front of her and peered through the dark to spot Brahms form leaning against the wood.

"You found me!" He said happily. Greta felt her heart might explode. His voice sounded so proud and joyful. She moved closer to him and he opened his arms. She smiled and gladly accepted the gesture.

Then the man's voice returned, much less childlike this time, but much more reassuring.

"And I will find you too."

She silently thanked him by giving a last squeeze before pulling away and letting him lead both of them back into the actual house.

Brahms became less certain of his steps as they made into the actual living area. So Greta decided it was her time to help Brahms.

After 20 years inside the walls, he moved through his own house as if he were an unfamiliar guest. He knew the walls, the exits and entries those gave him into the rooms, but it seemed he was a bit out of his element. She took Brahms's hand and led him to the bathroom, which had now filled with steam from the hot water. Greta quickly dipped her fingers in to test the temperature and sure enough, it was still more than warm enough.

"Well, I'll give you some privacy. There are towels on the sink. If you need any more they're in the cabinet over there and here's the body wash and shampoo" she smiled at him as she handed him everything.

He stood a bit uncomfortably so Greta simply turned around and left.

"If you need anything just, uhm, knock on the side of the bathtub, I won't be far"

With that, she closed the door behind her. She leaned against it to collect her thoughts. So much had happened. Greta brought her hand up to brush away a piece of hair and sighed before finally moving into her room to clean up the mess that was her dresser.


End file.
